The Wanderer
by J4ck0f5p4d3s
Summary: While on a caravan escort mission, Sarah Lyons discovers a weapon that could spell the end of the Brotherhood.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - The Wanderer

"I'm the type of guy who will never settle down

Where pretty girls are, you know that I'm around

I kiss 'em and I love 'em

'Cause to me they're all the same

I hug 'em and I squeeze 'em

They don't even know my name

They call me the Wanderer

Yeah, the Wanderer

I roam around, around, around."

My singalong was interrupted by the snickering of my squadmates. The one thing that made trekking across the Capital Wasteland bearable. Ruined.

"Oh, well there's Sarah on my left..." sang Paladin Glade.

"Shut up." I snapped, glad that my T-60A power helmet hid my blushing face.

Even the mighty Brotherhood of Steel wasn't above its immature gossip. A few months ago, the Lone Wanderer set off on a glorified suicide mission to singlehandedly infiltrate Adam's Air Force Base and hijack the Enclave's orbital strike platform.

"You know, you should never be afraid to admit you care, Sarah." teased Paladin Kodiak. I woke up from a three week long coma during the attack, and I didn't take the news well. Against the wishes, but not orders, of my father, Elder Lyons, I commandeered the Lone Wanderer's abandoned suit of T-60A Tesla power armor and set off in a vertibird to rescue him.

"Passion motivates, but lasers get the job done." said Paladin Commander Vargas. We found the Lone Wanderer pinned down without power armor by a squad of Enclave soldiers on the launch platform. With only minutes before four missiles would level the entire structure, we swooped in, saved the Lone Wanderer, and stopped to watch the fireworks before returning triumphantly to the Citadel.

The end of war celebrations began with the Lone Wanderer's promotion to the rank of Star Paladin. In a somewhat rushed ceremony, he shook hands with Paladin Commander Tristan, Head Scribe Rothchild, me, and finally, Dad. The party stretched late into the night, but took an unfortunate turn when after a few too many drinks, I invited the Lone Wanderer back to my personal quarters, eliciting cheers from the eavesdropping crowd. I think we were both disappointed by his awkward, "No thanks."

"Maybe Three-Dog has some news about your boyfriend." said Glade.

"I doubt it." The morning after, he had seemingly disappeared off the face of the Earth, or at least from the Capital Wasteland. If it had been anyone else, we'd be out looking for him. He was a member of my squad.

"He can't disappear forever. Nobody's that good." said the ever skeptical Knight Captain Gallows.

Aside from Gallows, the rest of Lyon's Pride hadn't shut up about "us" for months. I bet Enclave officers didn't have to deal with that bullshit. The Brotherhood was a military order, but it was first and foremost a family. Still, with the defeat of the Enclave and the disappearance of the Supermutants from the D.C. ruins, maybe we'd gone soft.

"Let's all just focus on the task at hand."

"Come on, Sarah. Lighten up a little. Listen to the music." said Knight Captain Colvin.

"Radio. Off."

He sighed. "Yes, Sentinel."

With the flick of a switch Dion's voice was replaced with the all too familiar, desolate silence of the Capital Wasteland. Combined with the blistering heat, it was enough to drive a man mad, fortunately not as quickly as my squad probably could. At least now I could get some peace and quiet. The D.C. ruins were never quiet.

Two shotgun blasts, a scream of pain, and the frightened moo of a brahmin broke the silence. Tactics ran through my head. Was it raiders? Supermutants? Enclave? Talon Company? But when I turned my head I saw the one thing that couldn't be planned for: A twelve foot tall deathclaw alpha male, feeding on the brahmin corpse as if we were mere ants spectating a human picnic.

"Shit." I whispered, clearly speaking for the group. "Everyone stay calm." As I rarely left the D.C. ruins, it had been years since the last time I'd seen a deathclaw. I was only a young knight when I witnessed the slaughter of an entire squad by just one of them. The soldiers' bulletproof power armor had been torn from their bodies and shredded by the beast's namesake claws.

I began to back away slowly. Unfortunately, the hydraulics irritated the deathclaw, as they didn't seem to be designed with stealth in mind. Lyon's Pride unloaded into the monster. Deathclaw hide was practically bulletproof, but luckily, I was armed with a plasma rifle. At the very least, I had a weapon that could penetrate it. I could work with that.

Irritated by our retaliation, the deathclaw discarded his meal and charged directly at his most immediate threat: me. I fired three bolts of green plasma at his legs, but hit only once. He continued his charge, completely unfazed. I drew a frag mine from my belt, but didn't need it.

With an earsplitting crack the deathclaw's neck jerked sharply to his right and a wicked gash opened in his forehead. A brown and black, humanoid figure materialized in mid air just above the deathclaw. The figure caught the deathclaw's face with a claw much like his own, drew a ripper in its left hand, and proceeded to saw off his right horn. He thrashed and screamed with pain as the Pride stared in awe at our savior.

A German shepherd with a robotic leg foreleg charged in to aid his master. With the strength of a yao guai he locked onto the thrashing deathclaw's left wrist, restraining it.

When the horn had been significantly weakened, the stranger sheathed their ripper, broke off the horn with one hand, swung around the deathclaw's neck, and drove it through the open head wound. The stranger slid down the spasming body and met our gaze, before turning back to end the defeated creature's misery with a plasma pistol shot to the head.

"This is why I travel with the radio off." lectured a muffled, male voice.

Colvin laughed. "I guess he didn't share Three-Dog's taste!"

The stranger wore a ratty, brown cloak over his lightly armored, black jumpsuit, which clung tightly to his noticeably slavic hips. He threw back his hood and took off his black and orange helmet, revealing the dark hair and mismatched, blue and brown eyes of the Lone Wanderer. They looked into and past each of us, clearly aware of everything around us, and I suspected some things that weren't.

Glade elbowed me. "Speak of the devil, eh?"

I removed my helmet and cautiously approached the Lone Wanderer. His hair was unkempt and longer than usual, and he had grown a survivalist's beard, but something more was off about him, even if I couldn't put my finger on it. I began to speak, with a simple thank you in mind, but all I managed was, "How?"

He turned to me. "Thanks for the distraction."

"Uh huh." I couldn't tear my eyes from the pile of green goo that was the deathclaw's head, "What are you doing out here?"

"Hunting." he answered, checking his pip-boy and patting Dogmeat's head. "What are you doing out here?"

"Escorting Doc Hoff's water caravan to Canterbury Commons." I gestured to our two remaining pack brahmin.

He cracked a smile. "They send Lyon's Pride for that?"

"We're the only ones father trusts to go this far north." I said through gritted teeth.

He glanced at the headless deathclaw corpse. "I can see why."

I turned to Vargas. "What did we lose?"

"One of the Rivet City guards and one pack brahmin, but the water didn't spill."

This wasn't good. I'd never spoken to either of the two Rivet City guards accompanying us. Lepelletier was likely to complain, even though she was the one who insisted at least one accompany every water caravan. She said it "Kept us honest".

The brahmin was the bigger concern. The two-headed bovines carry much, but even they had a limit. "Split the water sacks between the brahmin and have someone carry the body. We'll bring him back to Rivet City."

Vargas saluted. "Yes, Sentinel!"

I turned back to the Lone Wanderer. "Star Pala-..." He was gone without so much as a footprint left behind.

"Where the hell did he go?!" I demanded.

"He just, well, vanished." said Colvin.

"He probably used a stealthboy." said Knight Captain Dusk skeptically. "His idea of a dramatic exit." She never liked the Lone Wanderer. She seemed to think they had some kind of rivalry, but anyone who saw them both shoot knew it was no contest.

There was a distinctive flicker to a stealth field. In darkness, it was nearly undetectable, but in broad daylight, he might as well have lit up like a Glowing One.

"His dog is right over there." said Gallows, startling us all.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

The weary sun was just starting to set when Canterbury Commons came into view. The anemic town was much smaller than I'd expected of the supposed "Beating Heart of Civilization". There was an even a trail of smoke, presumably rising from a campfire. I had one guess as to who it belonged. Did the town not even have a hotel? The town was far out of the way of any traveller, had only half a dozen buildings, and was completely indefensible. Megaton had its walls, Rivet City was a warship, and the Citadel earned its name, but Canterbury Commons didn't have so much as an old man with a pointy stick standing watch.

Still, the place was clearly important. Pipes carried aqua pura from the Jefferson Memorial to Rivet City and the Citadel, but until a pipelines reached Megaton, the Wasteland depended on the caravan trade, and therefore Canterbury Commons. This water was as much a bride for loyalty as it was charity.

A middle-aged man in a red baseball cap - presumably some sort of local leader - was approaching my squad from the town.

"Welcome to Canterbury Commons!" he shouted pleasantly, "My name's Ernest but folks 'round here call me Uncle Roe." He held out his hand.

"Sentinel Sarah Lyons, Brotherhood of Steel." I shook his hand, mindful that I didn't crush it with my power fist.

"Y'all can go get some rest in the Caravaneer's bunkhouse just down the street. It's a big scrap shack. You can't miss it." He pointed to a single story building made from a mixture of moldy wood and rusty metal.

"Listen up everyone!" I began, "Gallows and I will take the first watch. Doc Hoff, go with Uncle Roe to put the Brahmin away. To the rest of you, don't let the bloatflies bite."

"Yes, ma'am!" Lyon's Pride responded.

They, along with the sole remaining Rivet City guard, marched off to the bunkhouse, while Doc Hoff and Uncle Roe led the brahmin off, leaving Gallows and I alone together.

Orders?" he asked, as always straight to the point.

"Find a vantage point somewhere high. I'll patrol the town."

He nodded and stalked off into the town. I turned and looked to the smoke trail. I had a few choice words for Star Paladin Wanderer.

He stared off to the west, probably scanning for threats. Dogmeat lie by his campfire, grazing gluttonously upon a rich rack of roasting ribs. The smell was sweet, but unfamiliar, as I rarely ate wasteland food.

"Smells nice." I said, making him jump. I felt slightly proud that I'd managed to sneak up on the Lone Wanderer.

He relaxed and turned back to the uninviting wasteland mountains. "It's yao guai."

I hated nothing more than being out of the loop. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing. I'm watching the sunset." How could I be so dense? He lived in an underground vault for his entire childhood.

It was beautiful, and I'd never thought about it. The sky was lit up like an Enclave firefight. Clouds which were normally white or grey now ranged from orange to red, contrasting brilliantly against the indigo sky. Light shades of apricot and salmon gradually faded into darker violets.

The mountains' shadows danced over the desert sands, until finally, the sun sank below the horizon. An impenetrable darkness fell over the Capital Wasteland, and the young night was welcomed by the chirping of crickets.

It had all happened so fast. Sunsets weren't something I often thought about. They were just a thing that happened, nothing special. "I'd imagine they didn't have those in Vault 101."

He sat down and started to poke at the fire with a stick. "No sun at all, despite what the ads and propaganda said. It was quite a shock feeling the real thing for the first time."

"What was the vault like?"

His eyes returned to the food. "Shouldn't you be with your squad?" he asked.

So he was all business. I'd do it his way then. "You mean our squad, Star Paladin?" I said, crossing my arms. "Last I checked, you're still under my command."

"Don't Star Paladins operate outside of the Chain Which Binds?" Apparently he picked up at least a little of the Codex, enough to dodge orders anyway.

"The Chain _That_ Binds." I corrected. "Yes, but that only means that the Elder can issue you orders directly. As Sentinel, I'm still in command of the entire Warrior Caste, and you, therefore, are my bitch." I said mirthfully.

He barely stifled a laugh. "Does the Codex have any rules against sexual harassment?"

I laughed. Had anyone else said it, they would've gotten my power fist so far up their ass that we would've needed to find a proctology holotape for Sawbones. The Lone Wanderer had a complex relationship with us. He'd never really taken the idea of working for the Brotherhood of Steel seriously, but he respected me, Dad, and Rothchild at least. We all respected him in turn - nobody else had to balls to leap down on a deathclaw - but he always seemed too distant to shoot the shit with whenever he was at the Citadel.

He looked up at me. "I could spare some."

The smell wafted into my nose, sweeter than ever. "I could always go for some spare ribs." With some difficulty, as I was in power armor, I sat down by the fire.

He threw a rib out for Dogmeat, then served our dinner onto two ceramic plates. We dug in. It was tough, greasy, and somewhat burned, but it was the best thing I'd eaten in months, definitely winning out against the stale Sugar Bombs I'd eaten for breakfast.

"If you don't mind my asking, where have you been the past few months?" I asked.

He set his plate down as though he'd suddenly started a strict diet. "Point Lookout. It was a national park in Maryland."

"Sounds like a nice vacation after the war with the Enclave." I said.

"Yeah." he said shortly, turning away from me.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

As he retreated into the shadows, the pale skin that veiled his skeletal figure became clearer. His mismatched eyes - only hours earlier glinting with a wisdom far beyond his years - gazed out with the vacancy reserved for one looking for something they knew they would not find.

"What happened there?" I asked cautiously.

He shrugged. I pulled him forward and swept aside his matted, black hair, finding a wicked gash swept across his forehead.

"What is this?! What happened?!" I demanded.

"Point Lookout happened." he spat. "I went to secure a source of punga fruit, and to rescue a missing girl. Point Lookout had other ideas."

I shook my head. "'Had other ideas'? You're talking like the place was alive."

"For all I know, it was! Everything - from the locals to the creatures to the weather - seemed to be conspiring against me." He injected himself in the left arm with what looked to be Med-X. "I won't pretend to understand it, but something much scarier than I am was lurking out there."

"But you're the…"

"Lone Wanderer?" he interrupted. It was easy to forget that he was the same boy I'd rescued back in Chevy Chase all those years ago.

"So, that thing lurking out there..." I refocused.

"The locals called It... Ug-Qualtoth." he strained. "I tried to steal Its holy book, and was offered as sacrifice. I barely… I'm not sure if I made it all the way." He retreated back into the shadows.

"Why didn't you request backup?! You know we would've helped you!"

"This is my cross to bear!" he shouted, standing up. "You keep getting in the way!"

"Of what?" I demanded.

"My sacrifice." he pulled a silver cross necklace out from under his jumpsuit. "My dad died for the Good Fight. I was supposed to too."

I stared at him, completely disbelieving. Who could be so arrogant? So pretentious? Then it occurred to me. "Aren't you happy with everything he built?"

His face blankened as though he had never been asked that question before. After a moment, he sealed back up again. "We both have things to do. I came up here for…"

A pulse grenade landed just to my left. I scrambled to throw it, but the Lone Wanderer had already leapt onto it. He would've had it too, but it exploded just half a second too soon. The pulse was more powerful than any I'd felt before. I was knocked to my side, and my power armor started to shut down. My joints seized up, and I suddenly felt a hundred pounds of steel crushing my ribcage. The power armor that was once my greatest asset was now my greatest liability.

The Lone Wanderer himself lie on the ground, completely dazed. He'd gotten a full blast from the thing. Arcs of electricity jumped around his limp body. He was struggling to get back to his feet, when a dart hit him in the neck.

"It worked, boys! We got him!" shouted an enthusiastic, older, male voice.

Five men in black combat armor stormed up the hill. Talon Company. The Lone Wanderer winced as one merc shocked him with a cattle prod. Another merc fastened a slave collar around his neck.

"Get moving or I'll blow your fuckin' head off." he threatened.

The Lone Wanderer matched off without so much as a passing glance. He was probably too afraid to draw attention to me.

His plan didn't work. "What do we do with the buckethead, Sarge?" one merc asked.

The sergeant kneeled down and blew cigarette smoke in my face. "I love seein' ya white knights taken down a peg." he took my plasma rifle. "Tell ya boss we took ya 'messiah', if the molerats don't find ya first."

His mercs turned and marched off into the night. The Lone Wanderer's short glace was just barely visible by the fading light of our extinguished campfire.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Hound Dog

For what felt like an eternity, I impotently watched those black armored bastards drag the Lone Wanderer off into the young night, but my power armor still showed no sign of recovery. I'd felt the blast of a pulse grenade before. Just one could stun the wearer of a suit of power armor, but only for a moment, enough to turn the tide of a difficult fight, but not to seriously incapacitate.

I struggled uselessly to roll to my knees. My armor didn't give so much as a defiant creak. There was something special about that pulse grenade; It had clearly left some lasting damage, but hopefully nothing that couldn't be fixed later.

Gallows had to be watching. He wasn't one to sleep on the job. Any minute now Lyon's Pride would arrive, but would they arrive before the mercs had lost themselves in the Wasteland? Bigger targets had done it before.

A friendly bark derailed my train of thought. Dogmeat stared at me, as if awaiting instructions. From my low perspective, I noticed for the first time that the dog's eyes matched his owner's.

"Come here, boy!" I beckoned. If any dog knew how to activate the emergency release on a suit of power armor, it was Dogmeat. The Lone Wanderer I knew would have planned for that.

Dogmeat licked my face affectionately. It would've been cute, had the situation not been so dire.

"On my back, Dogmeat." I explained. It was crazy, but his eyes held an understanding well beyond that of the common pariah dog. I'd grown up hearing stories of tribals in the Midwest that could communicate with animals. Did the Lone Wanderer have this power too?

He disappeared behind me. I felt stupid, waiting for a dog to save me, then, with a hydraulic hiss, I was spit out onto the ground.

"Remind me never to doubt you again."

He barked, then trotted off in the Lone Wanderer's direction. I took one look back at Canterbury Commons. Lyon's Pride showed no sign of awareness.

"Dogmeat! Stay!" I ordered, but he seemed uninterested in anything but his master at the moment. Disappearances were common in the Capital Wasteland. Tracking someone that far was nearly impossible. At least, it was without a nose like Dogmeat's. It was now or never. If I didn't follow, the trail would go cold.

I seized my laser pistol and the Lone Wanderer's brown cloak. Lyon's Pride would have to follow. We set off westward.

Within minutes I was shivering. Never before had I noticed just how cold the Wasteland got at night. The dry air gnawed at me. Power armor had both a heater and air conditioner, but unfortunately, my BOS jumpsuit had neither. I threw the Lone Wanderer's heavy, dark brown cloak over myself and immediately felt much better, until a gust of wind seemingly phased right through it.

It was growing darker. There was a new moon out, doing little to improve visibility. The mercs had long since escaped my line of sight, but Dogmeat knew where he was going. Occasionally, he would stop to sniff frantically in the air, then change our course, but we marched steadily. No creature more intimidating than the occasional bloatfly (A mere appetizer for Dogmeat) dared challenge us, which was strange, since common knowledge held that the most dangerous monsters only hunted at night. That was doubly true for the North. It was quiet, too quiet. Not that I'd ever dare question it aloud.

If there was something I could question, it was my own judgement. Was I wrong to run off on my own? It was dangerous to wander alone, and surely Lyon's Pride would have turned up eventually. The all-seeing Gallows was standing watch. I dropped a couple of drained energy cells on the ground, hoping to leave a trail.

The Lone Wanderer - The Messiah, the Last, Best Hope for Humanity - was in danger, and it was my fault. He had a goddamned slave collar on his neck! Escape? Even the Lone Wanderer wasn't that good. I just hoped he was smart enough to realize all that. His fireside confessions had led me to believe otherwise.

Dogmeat was the only way to track the Talon Company Mercs down, and without me, the he was useless. Was I much better though? Alone, and without my power armor, what good would I be?

Better than nothing, but I still hoped Lyon's Pride would catch up with me before I was put to that test. The light of a campfire shone just past my vision. I dropped a single drained energy cell.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Minnie the Moocher's Wedding Day

The Lone, fuckin' Wanderer.

I had won the lottery. The kid had racked up a respectable bounty of twenty thousand caps, and he was sittin' right in my camp, wearin' a slave collar. After nearly two decades in this goddamn business, I could finally sit pretty in Tenpenny Tower, with all the booze and whores caps could buy!

Even better, I'd be a legend. The one that bagged the Messiah himself. Nobody would dare fuck with me again. Maybe Jabsco would even let me a body part to frame over the fire.

"Sergeant?" Johnson - one of my mercs - interrupted.

"What is it?!"

"The, uh, prisoner wants to talk to you."

I froze. That was the last thing I expected to hear. What was he plannin'?

"He mentioned something about slave collars." Johnson said.

"What about them?" I asked slowly.

He winced. "The self-destruct code."

I could kiss all those whores and booze goodbye if he died. He was bluffing of course, but I couldn't risk it. Whoever put the hit on the kid wanted him alive for some reason, probably so he could kill him himself.

I sighed. "We need him alive."

With my two biggest mercs in tow, I entered the Lone Wanderer's tent. He was sittin' Indian style on the ground, with both hands tied and head still very much intact.

I lit myself a cigarette. "Well, well, well. Word is ya know somethin' about slave collars. Thinkin' about offin' yaself already?" My mercs laughed and I took a well-earned drag.

The Lone Wanderer stood bolt upright, and with one puff, blew out my cigarette.

"What the hell was…"

"Smoking is bad for you, you know?" he interrupted quickly. "I just saved your life. How about you let me go and we call it even?"

The slower merc gave a faint laugh.

I relit my cigarette. "Listen! You've got until the count of…"

It was knocked out of my mouth by a boney fist to the jaw. "Or what, bitch? You think I didn't hear you one tent away?"

My mercs raised their guns defensively.

I called them off and once again relit my cigarette. "What is it ya want?"

"Well, now that we're being civil," he began condescendingly, "I want to know where you got this from." He held out a pulse grenade.

My mercs raised their guns again.

"Where'd ya get that!" I demanded.

"Mail order catalogue. Your turn."

I froze for a moment, weighin' my options, before rememberin' that I didn't owe him anythin'. Sure, he was the Lone Wanderer, but he was still wearin' a slave collar.

"Kid, ya've got balls of steel." I said, taking a drag, "But ya'll have to do better than that."

We locked eyes. For the first time, I noticed that they were mismatched. In those shitty posters, they were always light blue. Still, they were just the same as they were in the poster: Absolutely impenetrable.

He had an iron will, and had killed better mercs than me before, but all it took was one glance to his neck to assure myself that he was harmless. I socked him right in the gut. My mercs burst into laughter at the fallen messiah.

"See, boys?!" I boasted, "He's nothin'!" I gave him a swift kick to the chest as he struggled on the ground.

Johnson burst through the tent door. "Sarge! There's a…"

There was a bloodred flash, and I was coughing up the dust that was Johnson's head.

I was struggling with my chinese assault rifle when a merc screamed out in pain behind me. I spun around to meet the Lone Wanderer, who was holding a combat knife to my throat.

"Let's talk this out, kid." I said, as three more laser shots were fired.

Wordlessly, he drew a key from my pocket, removed his collar, and threw me against the tent wall.

"What's your name?" he growled.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Ain't That a Kick in the Head?

It was remarkable just how easy it was to ambush a squad of six drunken mercenaries. The way they were equipped, I would never have guessed they were gunning to capture the deadliest man in the Capital Wasteland. Although, given their suicidal overconfidence, coupled with their complete lack of trigger discipline, it might not have mattered if they were equipped with gatling lasers and Hellfire armor.

I followed Dogmeat into the larger of the two tents, where I found the Lone Wanderer and the mercenary sergeant, whose brown hair and beard were already flecked with grey, a rare sight in the Wasteland indeed. The latter was sat in a wooden chair with my plasma rifle at his left, wearing what looked to be the former's slave collar.

"I'm, ah, Ian West." the sergeant gasped.

The Lone Wanderer held a detonator to his face.

"What are you doing?!" I demanded, "This is torture!"

"Ian" looked at me gratefully, while his now black eyed tormentor smiled knowingly.

"Don't worry, Sentinel. We haven't started without you." He turned back and the sergeant clutched his collar.

The Lone Wanderer motioned behind me, and we proceeded outside the tent.

"He's a prisoner!" I argued, "I can't let you do this."

He leaned forward and whispered, "A Brotherhood white knight and the Soultaker himself, we make the perfect good cop/bad cop duo."

I rolled my eyes. "Justify it however you want…"

"If you really want him alive," he began loudly, "maybe you can convince him!"

An exhausted sigh escaped my throat. "Want do you need to know?"

He held up a sleek, striped, scarlet pulse grenade. I understood immediately. We returned to the tent.

I casually set my left hand at my hip. "Can I get you anything? Water or food? Cigarettes?"

The Brotherhood was a military order. We had rules about "enhanced interrogation", but unfortunately, things were different out in the Wasteland. I'd learned though, that it was best to be a good host to your captive.

"I'll… I'll take a smoke, thanks." he said, probably used to less formal interrogations.

The Lone Wanderer reached down to the nearest mercenary corpse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The sergeant winced at the reminder. I quickly passed my lighter and one cigarette to him. The Brotherhood frowned upon recreational drug use.

"I have a few questions for you." I began.

He took a short puff. "I don't know anythin'. I'm just a grunt!"

I held up the advanced pulse grenade. "Can you please tell me what this it?"

"Well, ah, it's a pulse grenade." he mumbled.

My hand caught the Lone Wanderer's wrist just before he could grip his ripper. He glanced at me with a face that was far too calm for what he was about to do.

I continued the interrogation. "But you know better, don't you? We both heard what you said. 'It worked!' Or something to that effect, anyway."

He began to breathe rapidly and heavily, forcing him to hack up and lung full of phlegm. "You neva know how old pre-war tech will handle. Unreliable it is."

Maybe he was lying, or maybe he was just an idiot, it didn't matter. He had to have acquired the grenades somewhere. We could look for more information there.

"Where did you get the grenades?" I asked.

"Well, ya know how wanderin' the wastes is. Sometimes ya forget…" The Lone Wanderer held the detonator up to the sergeant's face. He threw himself to the ground on his knees. "Oh, please don't kill me! I'm only two days from retirement!"

The Lone Wanderer's deathclaw gauntlet closed around the merc's throat. "You have until the count of…"

I cut him off. "Just give me a name, or a place, and I'll call him off. He is under my command." He threw me a sly look.

"Alright! Alright, I'll tell ya!" said the terrified man.

The Lone Wanderer backed away, detonator still in hand.

"He was a guy named Jack. He sold me the grenades in…"

"Evergreen Mills." the Lone Wanderer interrupted.

The merc clapped his hands. "Yeah, that's the place! He works underground, in the Bazaar."

Evergreen Mills was the largest and most notorious Raider base in the entire Capital Wasteland. Many an Overboss had ruled their empire from the fortress. No such organization existed for years, largely due to the Lone Wanderer, but Evergreen Mills was no less defended because of that. Both the Brotherhood and Enclave had failed to capture it permanently.

I laid my hand on the Lone Wanderer's shoulder. "The Star Paladin and I will need to discuss this privately." I said.

"Does that mean I'm free?!" asked the sergeant hopefully.

"Head on back to Fort Bannister." said the Lone Wanderer, "But if you lied to us…" he held up the detonator.

"Thank you, sir!" The old merc said, "You don't know how much…"

The Lone Wanderer held up his detonator once more and the disgraced veteran fled the tent.

"Was that really necessary?" I asked.

He stowed the detonator and started ransacking the tent. "I don't care what your Codex says. This was the only way to get him to talk. We both know what would become of the Brotherhood if this lead goes unfollowed."

I smiled. "I was referring more to the little flourish at the end."

"Ha, well, he did try to sell me." He said, looting a first aid case.

"I guess you're just a valuable collector's item. Do you have to deal with this often?"

"Not like this. They aren't exactly well trained." He injected a Med-X syringe into his left arm.

I gripped his arm. "Hey, they didn't… hurt you, did they?"

He stared confusedly then blushed, making me do the same and let go. "Don't worry about me. It was mostly just threats." he said.

I looked to his fresh black eye. "Mostly."

"Mostly." he agreed. "They had some idea about blowing my head off."

"To be honest, I was worried you'd be stupid enough to actually get your head blown off."

It took him a while to respond. "I'm sorry for what I said back in Canterbury Commons. I wasn't in a great place at the time."

His eyes held the same broken haunting as before, as though he'd watched me die a thousand times.

"Listen, if you ever want to talk about…"

"No!" he snapped. "Sorry, I mean, not now. I have more important things to do right now."

I let out an exhausted laugh. "'I'? You don't expect me to leave you here, do you?"

"What?"

"It's my brothers that will die from this weapon, not yours. I'm coming with you."

He was visibly shocked by my insistence, wearing a look of defiant confusion. "No, I can handle this by myself. You need to warn the Brotherhood."

"I left a trail for Lyon's Pride to follow me." I explained. "They'll find their way way soon, and I'm more than just a messenger, you know?"

His confidence faltered a bit. "I just work best alone, okay? It's nothing personal. You'll just slow me down."

"Yeah, and you'll just get yourself killed." I said. After today, I didn't have the same trust in him anymore. "That thing brought you down, even without power armor. There needs to be two of us, just in case."

He turned away and considered my words silently. As much as he wanted to go it alone, he knew I was right. Hopefully, he wouldn't risk the mission just to preserve his pride.

I left him to his inevitable conclusion as I grabbed my plasma rifle and searched for a way to leave a message to Lyon's Pride. A holotape would do it, or a pen and paper if all else failed. When my search yielded nothing, I resolved to ask the Lone Wanderer once he made his decision.

"Sarah?" he called.

"Yes?"

"Are you sure about this?" he asked slowly. "There won't be any turing back."

I remembered how useless I was, helpless laying on the ground, freed only by the grace of a trained dog. "Yes. This is important to me."

He nodded. "Then we need to leave now, and we can't let anyone follow us."

"Wait." I said, realization dawning. "We'll need backup in order to pull this off."

"No we won't."

"But I don't even have my power armor."

"Look around you, Sarah!" he shouted. "An entire kill team of Talon Company mercenaries. You killed them, all without your power armor or plasma rifle. I'd say the three of us are more than enough to infiltrate Evergreen Mills."

There came a cheerful bark. Dogmeat entered the tent carrying a small sack. The Lone Wanderer set it on the interrogation chair and opened it, revealing its contents: advanced pulse grenades.

"This will tell the Brotherhood all they need to know, for now."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Slow Boat to China

We began the long trek south down a winding, blasted road from the Scrapyard encampment, the young sun crawling above the horizon. The Lone Wanderer suggested we rest before leaving, but I didn't trust him not to leave me behind. After only an hour I regretted that decision. I would've thought the lack of heavy power armor would've made it easier.

"You stopped talking." the Lone Wanderer said, helmet and hood covering his face.

"Huh?" I said, torn from my train of thought.

"Nevermind." He turned back to the horizon and we marched along in silence for a few awkward moments.

"Holding up okay?" I asked.

"I have something to do. That always helps."

When so many others in the Capital Wasteland had given up hope, the Lone Wanderer was still going, still pursuing his goal. The Enclave would've attributed it to his pure genetics - despite their own failures - but knowing him personally, I'd say it was something more. I grew up listening to stories about the Vault Dweller and the Chosen One - the later of whom dad claimed to know personally - and all the details matched: Vault background, tragic loss, idealistic goals, opposition to conquering tyrants. There was a certain kind of person that became a hero, but what kind of person was it?

"Still there?" he asked.

"Yeah, sorry." I said. "Hey, do you mind if I ask you something?"

His tone soured. "That depends."

"How have you kept going so long?"

He stopped dead in his tracks, so silent I could legitimately hear the chirping of crickets. "It gets easier."

"But how?" I asked, unsatisfied with his answer.

He started along the trail again. "As bad as things are in the Capital Wasteland, there's always hope for the future."

"Isn't that true of everywhere?"

He looked down, as if the cracked pavement itself illustrated his point. "No."

I thought back to my earliest memories: Noxious air, a yellow sky, flesh and metal, the Pitt. Was there anywhere in the world less hopeful than a hole in the ground? "You're talking about Vault 101, aren't you?"

"I always wanted to leave the Vault." he said. "Looking back now, I think I spent my whole life up until then getting ready for it."

I feel a pang of sympathy. "I was born in a bunker back in California. It was cramped, dark, and the food sucked."

"Good riddance."

I let out a laugh, then he broke out into uneasy chuckling and suddenly we were both laughing together. And to think that I was worried about how this mission might turn out.

Silence was starting to set in again. "How about some radio?" he suggested.

"Why not?"

With the flick off a switch, the smooth, clear voice of a man I'd never bothered to learn the name of leapt through the Lone Wanderer's pipboy. It was one of my personal favorites.

"…this song

'Cause I don't wanna wait a moment too long

To say that

I'd love to get ya

On a Slow Boat to China

All to myself, alone"

I turned away to blush slightly. The Lone Wanderer was not the company to listen to this song with.

"Get ya and keep ya

In my arms evermore

Leave all your lovers

Weepin' on a faraway shore"

"We interrupt our regularly scheduled content for SOME NEWS!" came Three Dog's merciful voice. "Now kiddies, I dare say my every word is important, but you'll wanna hear this one. According to one 'Ronald Laren', Girdershade shitfarmer, somethin's been killin' Enclave troopers in the Southwest."

"What?!" I said. The Lone Wanderer shushed me.

"Nobody has less sympathy for those bat-eared bastards than I do, but if you're in the area, watch yourselves, and if you're not, don't even think about scavving. No suit of shinin' armor is worth your life. Not like it did them any good anyway. We now return to our regularly scheduled programing."

This had to be those pulse grenades. Deathclaws weren't common to the region, and not much else could crack power armor. I began to speak.

"Out on the briny"

I shut off his radio for him. "Still sure we don't need backup?" I asked.

He gave a curt nod. "Yes. What do the Brotherhood wear?"

I rolled my eyes. "Power armor, but we can do without it."

" _You_ can do without it." he corrected.

He was right. As much as the Brotherhood of Steel had done, it had been due to superior firepower, not ingenuity. You didn't need ingenuity to fight Supermutants or raiders. We'd lost our greatest advantage.

We walked on silently. It looked to be about noon, but Megaton was still a ways away.

"We can always part ways in Megaton." the Lone Wanderer suggested.

"Not a chance." The Brotherhood - The entire Capital Wasteland - needed those pulse grenades destroyed, and I'd be the one to do it. I took a sip from the Lone Wanderer's trusty Vault 101 canteen.

"I'd love to getcha

On a slow boat to China

All to myself, alone

A twist in the rudder, and a rip in the sand

Drifting and dreaming"

The Lone Wanderer laughed. "God, you're terrible."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 -

"The bomb is perfectly safe." said a friendly-voiced robotic deputy.

Megaton was located at nearly the exact center of the Capital Wasteland, and because of that, became something of a crossroads. The imposing scrap metal walls were a symbol of humanity's desire to rebuild from whatever remained of the old world.

The city gate opened, and we were greeted by a women in dirty rags.

"The Lone Wanderer?!" she said. "You saved my sister and I from Supermutants a year ago! Look, it's not much, but here, take this." She thrust a bottle of purified water to him.

He began to mutter objections but she was already gone. No doubt to tell everyone she knew about who she just met.

I surveyed the massive shantytown below. It was beautiful, in its own way. "Which one's yours?"

"This way." he said, clearly eager to leave the limelight.

We turned left and walked up a scrap ramp. The Lone Wanderer's house was two stories tall and so lopsided that I wondered how it managed to stay up at all. After inserting a thoroughly paranoid number of keys, he unlocked and held open the dust caked door.

Was the Lone Wanderer a hoarder? No space in the house was left unfurnished. To the left was a metal stand displaying a full set of twenty Vault-Tec bobbleheads. In the front right corner was the entrance to a small workshop, which included a powered down Sgt. Gutsy and a half assembled suit of Hellfire power armor.

"Welcome home, Master, and good afternoon, Madam! I trust you had a positively swell day at the office?" asked the English accented, floating, metallic octopus commonly known as a Mister Handy.

"Wadsworth, get us two Nuka Cola Quantums." ordered the Lone Wanderer.

"As you wish, Master." It floated off into a kitchen nook opposite the entrance.

Wordlessly, the Lone Wanderer disappeared upstairs. Seeing the inviting couch at the center of the living room, I collapsed in a way few Americans could still afford to. Against the staircase in front of me war an old TV. It clearly had no signal but a neat row of holotape sat just below it.

"Your drink, Madam." said Wadsworth, laying two Nuka Cola Quantums on surprisingly civilized coasters. "If there is anything else you would like - a late lunch, or perhaps an early dinner - please don't hesitate to ask." He chuckled softly at what I barely considered to be a joke.

I scanned the glowing, blue liquid, too afraid to take a drink. Radiation was no laughing matter, though it must have been to Pre-War America for such a soft drink to exist.

"It's an acquired taste." said the Lone Wanderer, returning from upstairs without his rifles.

He sat down beside me and took a swig of the azure sugar water. "We'll stay here until tomorrow morning, then we leave for Evergreen Mills."

"Why are we staying the night?" I asked. "I thought we were just stopping in the town to trade."

"We'll have to rest eventually, and better here than out in the wasteland."

I got the feeling he was slowing down just for me. It didn't sit right, since we left the Brotherhood behind specifically so they couldn't hold us back. Still, I dropped it. This had to be done right.

The Lone Wanderer stood up and threw on his cloak. "I need to talk to some people. Make yourself at home." He disappeared out the front door.

Being alone in his house was strange. It had never occured to me before now just how rich he must be. Salvage was probably the most reliable profession in the world right now, and the Lone Wanderer definitely found plenty of that. Even the Brotherhood didn't have a robotic butler.

I pushed away my unopened Nuka Cola and stood up to look around. His kitchen was spartan, but still better than most, as it included a working sink, stove, and fridge, which was fully stocked with wasteland goodies. The liquor cabinet, however, was empty save for a single unopened, dusty bottle of scotch.

To the left was a small, uninviting room filled with bulky machinery that I eventually identified as an Auto-Doc. Where he found and how he managed to transport such a rare and unwieldy thing was anyone's guess. The Brotherhood had to make due with a deranged Sgt. Gutsy for surgeries.

"If Madam is in need of medical attention she would be more than welcome to use the Auto-Doc." informed Wadsworth.

"Where did your master find it?" I asked.

"I believe it came originally from Vault 108. Master required it for a special project."

I raised an eyebrow. "What sort of 'special project'?"

"The dissection and reinstallation of cybernetic implants." it answered matter-of-factly.

I supposed that was the story behind the blue eye, though I was curious what else he had installed, having been instilled with an interest in advanced technology from a young age. It wasn't every day you met a cyborg.

Something about that house was all wrong. It was well furnished, but hardly lived in, as though it were an abandoned mansion still visited on dares by local teenagers. Wadsworth evidently didn't have much time to dust. Admittedly, doing so in the Capital Wasteland would be a Sisyphean task.

I grabbed my Nuka Cola Quantum and went to the door. "I'm going out. The air is stale in here."

"I calculate the interior humidity at 0.35% less than the exterior humidity, Madam, but as you wish."

I uncapped the bottle and waterfalled it one go. It was okay, but had far too much passion fruit for my liking.

A discarded syringe on the ground caught my eye. I picked it up to examine it. Whatever chem it had held had already been used and the needle showed the telltale bent of multiple uses. The Brotherhood greatly frowned on that practice, though it was sometimes necessary.

What worried me more was the light trail of fresh blood leading off towards the town gate, spaced sparsely as though its creator was in a great hurry. It was probably just some junkie, but I had an idea who that junkie was.

The trail led me north outside Megaton to an abandoned Pre-War suburb. Nearly all the houses were rubble, save a small ranch house with two penned brahmin. I turned the bloodstained, brass doorknob, so eager that I forgot to knock.

"50 caps? You've gotta be shittin' me, smoothskin! The employee discount is only 10% off." said the one Ghoul unfortunate enough to also have to wear glasses. He was pouring over a table of assorted chems and boxes of Sugarbombs cereal.

An assault rifle thrust into my face. "Get out, meat!" barked another, much taller, Ghoul.

As I reached for my laser pistol, the Lone Wanderer shoved him aside, then winced with pain. "She's with me." he said through gritted teeth.

"Jesus Christ!" the bespectacled ghoul shouted in horror as I entered the ranch house. "First you come here lookin' for tranqs, then one of your groupies shows up!"

"It's not like that!" the Lone Wanderer attempted to interrupt.

"You think I can't put two and two together?! I'm a chemist, not an accessory to date rape!"

The idea that the Lone Wanderer would have to resort to drugs to get laid was laughable, though I supposed it shouldn't be. He was incredibly awkward, and fame alone couldn't get you into everyone's panties.

"Just give him his chems and we'll leave." I said, eager to forget this conversation.

The drug dealer swept up all the caps and Sugarbombs on the table and thrust six doses of what I thought was Med-X into the Lone Wanderer's hands. Without so much as a goodbye, his bodyguard escorted us out with an assault rifle trained at our backs.

"What was that all about?!" I demanded as the Lone Wanderer awkwardly attempted to stow his purchase.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about. You should know better than that."

I blushed. "Not that! The chems! What are they for?"

He looked to his left, seamingly unable to speak.

I took a deep breath. "I've been worried about you. You keep injecting that crap every chance you get. Is it serious? Do you need time to heal before we go on this mission?"

He looked up. "No, nothing like that."

I glared daggers at him, edging him to go on.

"It's not Med-X." he explained. "It's Calmex, a Pre-War veterinary tranquilizer. Sometimes, the stress gets to me, and this helps." he trailed off.

I crossed my arms. "You're an addict."

He offered no response, simply staring through me. I turned to walk back to Megaton.

"Sarah, wait!"

"What?!" I wheeled around, expecting something good.

"I promise, this won't get in the way of our mission." he said. "I just bought a week's supply."

I stormed away from the desolate town, each long step taking me further from the boy I'd once respected.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - Lay That Missile Down

A loud, piercing ring sounded through the scrap shack. The snooze button had long since broken. A lifetime of military discipline kicked in as I jumped from the patchy couch onto my feet.

"Good morning, madam. I trust you slept well?" said Wadsworth, "What would you like for breakfast this morning? Might I recommend the boysenberry waffles?"

"Don't pay it any attention. It can't cook." called the Lone Wanderer, who was pan frying a massive egg.

I almost reflexively fell to the floor and started on my push ups. This was no time to be lax about physical fitness.

"I managed to bring a local farmer a live Mother Deathclaw." said the Lone Wanderer, "He's given me free eggs ever since."

His words barely registered. All that mattered was pushing against the floor, though the smell was downright irresistible. 50, halfway done, soon I could eat. My head was clear, emotionless, but hunger was the one sensation exercise could not purge.

With a loud blast, the ground began to shake and I fell face first onto the floor. Years of trapped dust poured down onto me as the walls tensed. The Lone Wanderer was already scrambling for his weapons.

"What the hell's going on?!" I demanded, but he vanished before the door even opened. "Not this again."

"Dear me, madam! It would seem that we are having an earthquake!" said Wadsworth. "These old bones have not felt such a shake since the one hundred forty eighth anniversary of…"

"Shut up, you old nag!" came the grouchy voice of drill sergeant. "The Commander needs our help and we've got no time for show and tell!" An army green Sgt. Gutsy floated into view and saluted with its clawed tentacle. "Sergeant RL-3 reporting for duty, ma'am! Ready to put some Goddamn commie bastards out of their Goddamn misery at your command, ma'am!"

I took one look at the Hellfire power armor and knew what role I'd play in this fight.

It was uncomfortable, not physically, but it just felt wrong. The suit forwent the same heroic features of older models, opting instead for a somewhat alien design. Enclave culture must have greatly diverged since the Great War. It was also missing a few pieces, especially around the arms, but what the suit did include felt incredibly solid. Still, the asymmetricality made it difficult to move in, though I was somewhat used to that feeling. Like my last suit of power armor, it was equipped with a heavy personal tesla tank.

I took two unbalanced steps forward towards the weapons rack. A red, white, and black laser rifle caught my eye so I grabbed it and rushed outside, two robots in tow.

The shaking hadn't stopped for more than an instant since the first blast, but outside was even worse. Megaton's metal walls flexed under the chorus of thunderous artillery. In the bright blue sky above I could just barely make out explosive flashes.

"I love the smell of plasma in the morning!" Sgt. RL-3 held out all three tentacles and spun in a rare moment of robotic joy.

"Personally, I prefer that of a rhubarb scented candle, if madam would indulge me to hear my preferences."

We rounded the corner towards the gate and found the town militia armed and setting up barricades. They seemed to be led by a dark-skinned cowboy armed with a Chinese assault rifle.

"Everyone stay calm." he said authoritatively.

A tanned, bald man pushed his way to the front of the crowd. "Are you fuckin' kickin' me, Simms?" he said, in the mongrel accent common to Wasteland raiders. "These bastard sons of bitches are gonna flay us alive and eat our charred skins!"

The Lone Wanderer materialized between us. "Karma's funny like that."

The old thug staggered back in shock. "Jesus kid!"

"He'll do that." I said.

Another blast shook the gate, pushing it slightly off its hinges. We all broke away from the conversation to take aim. The Lone Wanderer had disappeared again. Typical.

With one last trumpeting explosion the gate was torn from its hinges. Raiders poured in alongside a cloud of brown dust, but nobody dared fire the first shot. A troupe of six slaves pulled a cart carrying what must have been the largest grenade launcher ever constructed.

It was a lopsided abomination of twisted steel and eldritch machinery. The barrel was two meters long, supported by curves of polished metal, and belt fed from a box that must have been bottomless. Mounted its sides were the still helmeted heads of Enclave troopers, Outcast Defenders, and even fellow raiders. At the front was an empty slot labeled "Soultaker", one that they probably hoped to fill that day.

The leviathan had an honor guard of four raiders dressed in heavy, metal armor. One, wearing a gas mask, Chinese commando hat, and cape of the brightest lime green, stepped forward to address the assembled masses.

"People of Megaton!" he cried. "King Ashur is dead, and I am the herald of your new overlord, Overboss of the thirteen tribes, Mayor of D.C., Empress of New Siberia in general, and the Capital Wasteland in particular, Her Imperial Majesty, Tsar Bomba!"

A grave silence fell over the crowd. Power struggles were so common among raiders, that even raiders didn't usually take notice, but usually they didn't bring behemoth guns with them to proclaim their new rule. Still, it made quite the impression.

"Jericho, brother of the Wastes, will you rejoin us in our conquest?!" said the herald.

The middle-aged raider took a dusty spit on the ground. "Are you fuckin' kickin' me, Dave? We're too old for this shit! Quit livin' in the clouds! The Brotherhood's gonna come down and splatter your asses across the ground, just like they always have!"

"'Dave' is dead, there is only Nikolai now, Procurator General of the…"

"Blow it out your ass, _Dave!_ "

Nikolai punched Jericho in the stomach with his power fist, knocking him to the ground and making him cough up blood.

"Who is next?!" he demanded, but everyone in the crowd was more afraid of the grenade machinegun than him. "You there! In the power armor! Step forward!"

I complied silently, knowing that a single pulse grenade would be my end. The two robots followed dutifully, probably unable to comprehend the great danger in front of them. The herald showed no sign of fear as I stood before him a walking tank. The gun probably helped.

The faintest shimmer came from behind the gun. I squinted, but there was nothing. It had to have been the Lone Wanderer. Maybe if I could draw the raiders away from…

"Agh!" the bastard threw a powered punch straight to my chest, an amateaur move, but no less painful. Staggered, I shouldered my rifle and unloaded into the grenadier. Before being reduced to a charred hunk of swiss cheese, he managed one frag shot, knocking both me and the charging herald to the ground.

The Megaton militia took the offensive against the raiders, gunning down the disorganized masses. Most retreated, and what little resistance remained charged suicidally into the onslaught of hot lead. The only survivors were those four lucky enough to have metal armor, including Dave. I struggled to my feet, but he was already up and charging again, power fist raised. The blast had blown my rifle away.

"Fuck!" he shouted in agony, falling to the ground and nursing a massive hole through the leg.

Jericho kicked him hard in the stomach, clutching his still smoking pistol. "No one sucka punches me and lives!"

He tried to help me up, but the power armor more than made up for whatever damage had been done. We turned to join the battle that had devolved into a brutal melee. Ten settlers had already fallen, with all three raider brutes still in the fight.

"Hey, buckethead!" I turned and saw a raider behind the gun. I drew in a deep breath, but the moment she pulled the trigger, a wall of gliding metal blocked her shot point blank.

"For King and Country!" cried Wadsworth.

The very ground shook in an explosion the size of a mini-nuke.


End file.
